


(feeling a little) better

by BloodAndRosesBitch



Category: Burn Notice
Genre: Canon-Typical Violence, Fiona (mentioned) - Freeform, First Kiss, Fluff, Hurt/Comfort, Implied Sexual Content, M/M, Mentions of Blood, Not Canon Compliant, like physical wounds, strong language cw
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-11-14
Updated: 2020-11-14
Packaged: 2021-03-10 02:14:02
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 3,996
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/27556681
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/BloodAndRosesBitch/pseuds/BloodAndRosesBitch
Summary: The night after Maddie makes Michael and Jesse make up, there's trouble on the horizon, a lingering threat, catalyzed by Jesse. He's hoping that somehow it'll bring them closer together, not push them away from each other. He's really hoping it'll make them better than before, like a broken bone healing.
Relationships: Jesse Porter/Michael Westen
Kudos: 3





	(feeling a little) better

**Author's Note:**

> So much fun to write this! My first BN fic, so everyone's a little OOC and the fighting is stiff, but I hope you enjoyed it! I needed some Michael/Jesse to sooth a rough day.
> 
> 11/17/20 - EDIT: I revised it, since I couldn't stop thinking about these boys. Tried to make them more true to character, and improve the writing. When I wrote the first draft I was frantic and it was like 3 am, so I'm hoping this improved it quite a bit.
> 
> Have a nice day, everyone!

It's midnight and the air is oppressively warm and humid, moisture and heat pressing in around me as I creep through the night. I'm sweating. It's disgusting. I came in the clothes I wore today, a cotton short sleeve button-down shirt and jeans. Basically, a mistake. I took a cab from my new place (a small, dirty motel room about five miles away from the one Fi and Maddie found me in) to six blocks away from here. Michael Westen's warehouse. The nightclub, bright and booming and not three yards away, adds to the surreality of this whole night. I can't believe I'm here. I really never thought I'd end up outside this place again.

It looms up in front of me. Silent, like it should be. It's hard to imagine that anything could be wrong.

I was so recently a self-appointed enemy of his I'm not sure how Michael will take my random visit in the middle of the night, but I'm hoping it won't be with a bullet in my head. At least until he hears what I have to say. After that... A bullet will seem pretty reasonable.

I sloppily sneak up the steps to his warehouse, since I'm not really trying to be quiet, and stop on the platform outside the door. I'm not usually nervous man but my hand shakes as I lift it to knock. Before I hit the door, it swings open and I jump back, blinking. My hands go up into the air when I see Michael, holding a gun that is pointed straight between my eyes.

"Woah! Michael--"

He raises an eyebrow. "Jesse?"

"Uh. Hi."

"Is something... wrong?" Michael narrows his eyes and looks around, then down to the ground. He looks back at me.

I fidget, then gesture towards his warehouse. "Inside."

Michael nods. "You need to learn how to be quiet."

"Mmm."

He steps inside and holds the door open for me. I nod a thanks and follow him inside. We both pause. Michael's staring at me, eyebrow still raised. "So Jess? Spit it out."

I clear my throat. "There may be a, uh, friend of mine who I can't get in touch with to tell that I don't need you kidnapped anymore." There's not exactly a.c .in Michael's place, but it's much cooler than outside. Much better for my clothes, too.

Michael frowns at me. "You called a "friend" on me?"

"He's coming tonight."

He sits down on the edge of his mattress and looks at me. His form is clear cut, outlined partially in the dim lamplight. He's handsome. I'd be a fool not to admit it. Broad shoulders, soft lips that turn upwards, eyes that flicker emotion but never tell, strong arms to hold me. A deep, simple voice. "So, you said your friend is coming to kill me?"

I wince. "That's a little harsh."

Michael gives me his signature smile--the one that's small, tight, not quite a smile. The _I'm done with you_ smile. "It's true," he says through his teeth.

I nod, and look at the ground. "Yeah. Um. Sorry."

"I'm sorry, did "Mr. I won't Forgive You" just _apologize_?"

I sigh. "I never actually said I'd never forgive you. And I did. Forgive you."

"Only because of mom."

"Your mom is a force of nature."

"Proves my point." He folds his arms, and I watch his shoulder muscles shift elegantly.

"Why'd _you_ forgive me for being so salty, Westen?"

"I was ready to forgive you as soon as you stopped acting like a child."

"Yeah, but what'd it take? Madeline, right? Maybe we're both children. Grown men acting fools around each other." When I suggest that he gives me an unreadable, tense look. We stand there, silent in the dingy light of a singular dying lamp. Staring at each other. I'm supposed to be able to control the things I feel. I am a covert ops man. I grew into the job. Perfectly suited for it. But I've always been a hot head about one unfortunate thing: the people I love. I stare at him and he stares at me. Not like I mind looking deep into those brown eyes.

All of a sudden, he puts a hand up to his forehead and sighs. "I hate to say it, but you're right."

I open my mouth in mock surprise. "I can be right about things now?"

"Jess," Michael starts, then looks at me again, stoic as ever. Then he blinks, and I see a little bit of a real person. "I missed you."

I put my hands on my hips. "Are we going to lock this place down or what?"

"Let's get to it."

* * *

It's one a.m. when we're done. We've pushed some of his furniture up to both the balcony door and the front door and Michael has suggested we hide out in the upper landing. I feel a little better. A little more at ease, with Michael aware and watching every move I make.

"So, how much do we know about this friend of yours?"

We're sitting on two office chairs, across the space from each other. I lean backwards and spin around. "A lot."

"Care to share any of it?"

"Uhh... Haven't seen him since 2003, so he might be a little different now, but he really likes seafood. And tends to start shooting when things go poorly. Actually, he's a lot like Fi." I gesture with my hand like a machine gun and Michael laughs. It fills my blood with something nice. "His name is Gunner. He'll probably try to kill us both. Uses a mouse gun; a Kel-Tech P-11, and usually forgets to load the whole magazine so he walks around with like 5 or 6 rounds.

Michael nods. "How close were you with this guy?"

I laugh dryly, trying to play my nerves down. "Oh. You know. Not... very."

"You just gave me a page worth of info on a guy you haven't seen in seven or eight years, Jess."

"I have a... good memory. You know, uh, like a spy? You have a good memory too."

Michael narrows his eyes at me and nods. "Right," he says slowly. He's thinking too hard about this.

"So, Mikey!" I say, my voice pitching up. Damn it. "Anybody from your past you've met and then wished you hadn't?"

"Not looking forward to seeing Gunner again? I thought he was your friend."

"We didn't leave each other on the best of terms."

"I see."

I wait for him to keep going, but he just stares at me.

I nod stiffly. "Alright! Well, that can be the end of that." I clear my throat. "Nothing for you to worry about."

"I know," he said softly. His eyes glitter in the dim, warm light. I've never seen him like this before--I thought the only person he ever got soft with was Fiona. "I'm not worried. I'm hoping you haven't killed us both, though."

"I know." My voice is hoarse. I clear my throat again. I feel sick and a little weak. "Me too." I clutch the arms of the chair and close my eyes, hoping that something will change. I don't want to die. I don't want Michael to die. Not because of me, and I don't want Gunner to be the one to kill either of us.

Michael gets up. I hear him walk over to me, but before he does anything, there's a large crashing sound outside. My eyes shot open and I jump up. Michael rushes over to his desk.

"Catch!" He shouts, and tosses a gun my way. A Glock 20. Sweet.

"Could you tell which way it was from?" I ask. He shakes his head.

"Have my back?" I nod and press my back to his, ignoring the fireworks and shivers that run up my spine when our shoulders touch. There's another crash, this time clearly from the direction of the balcony.

There's another crash as a silhouette bursts through the balcony door. He comes through the glass right above the section we had the refrigerator pushed up against and lands on the concrete floor in a roll, eventually coming to a stop and standing elegantly.

He stares up at us.

"Gunner, I don't need your help anymore. I already got Michael back. We're even," I shout down, and he shakes his head and starts to stride up the stairs.

When he comes up onto the second level, I remember how handsome he is. A five o'clock shadow and high cheek bones that make his face look gaunt and haunted on bad days. Crystal blue eyes and straight blonde hair. Crows feet that get more prominent when he frowns, like he is now. "I came out to Miami for nothing?" He speaks with a heavy southern accent--not his real one and not the one he had when I met him.

"Yeah, sorry man. I made a mistake. I can still pay you. How about half?" I reach for my wallet and he whips his gun to point at me.

"Don't move, kid."

"Gunner, you know me. Let me pay you and then you can get the Hell outta here."

Gunner snarls.

"Jess, your friend looks a little unfriendly," Michael points out.

"Ooh," Gunner coos. "You've got yourself soft, kiddo? Got some nice man to call you a pet name, keep you satisfied?"

"Hey--"

"You want the full price?" I ask, interrupting Michael.

"I don't want money, I want Westen's blood to stain the floor."

"Why?"

Gunner growls again. "You're asking about my feelings when I have a gun at your face?"

"To be fair, we also have guns to your face," Michael says.

"Kid over there wouldn't dare shoot me. I saved his ass, and kept it safe too. He'd be an idiot." I flinch. Gunner gives a little giddy laugh. He saw me. He always sees me. The only one who can break me down with a few words, or less. A singular action.

"I've known people like this," Michael says to me. "You're better off just killing him now." It's half sarcastic, but I get the sense Michael's not joking.

I grimace. Gunner laughs, that harsh, dirty laugh. "He's right," I say to Michael. "He's my goddamned savior! I can't kill him."

"Jess," he says, the nickname used forcefully, purposefully, loudly, "people who have to remind you that they saved you hardly ever meant it in the first place."

"You're more of an idiot than Jesse made you out to be," Gunner says, pointing his pistol at Michael again.

Michael lets out a hard laugh. "Jesse made me out to be an idiot?"

"Yeah, said you'd be easy pickings. Not much of a spy at all, he said."

"Well, Jesse. That's news."

I frown. "I didn't mean it like that," I start, but Michael cuts me off.

"I can't believe you would say those things about me, I thought we were friends!" Michael cries this line out, and suddenly it gets all too clear to me that he's playing some kind of part. The immature beginner that Gunner thinks he is. I just can't figure out the angle, why he would want Gunner to think he's turned on me. That won't make Gunner any less likely to shoot him (or me).

Gunner laughs rudely. "Looks like your little boyfriend's got vanity issues." He swings his pistol towards me again, but he keeps watching Michael. "Hey, boyfriend. Wanna make a deal?"

Michael tilts his head. "I'm listening."

"I'll shoot the kid, and you help me cover it. Makes sense, right? Kid insulted you, gotta protect your honor."

Michael points his gun at me, too and gives a little laugh. "Alright, Gunner. I'll take your little deal and raise you a job together. I have one tomorrow, and I need a partner."

Gunner grins his rotten tooth'd grin and nod sharply, then turns to me. "Any last words, kid?"

"Uh..."

I look to Michael. He gives me an encouraging nod, but it's pointedly oddly in to the left. I hope I'm not seeing things. I hope he's giving me a sign. I hope he's playing a part. I look to the left. The bed. Down the stairs, to our left, is his mattress.

"I'd like to be shot on the bed." I laugh self-consciously. "We had a lotta good times on there, didn't we?" I ask Michael, and he nods slowly, then winks at Gunner. "And Michael..." I turn to look at him, making full eyes contact with him. He looks at me, impassible. "I really did think I loved you."

"Told me that too, when he thought we were gonna die," Gunner murmurs to Michael.

Michael rolls his eyes. "Drama queen."

"Also a softie," Gunner says as he turns back to me. Michael, since Gunner's back is to him, mouths what looks like "don't worry," but might also be "dumb whore."

"Drop your gun," Gunner orders me, and so I put it down and kick it towards him. He kicks it further away. "Now get over there and down the stairs, kid, and don't say another word."

I walk down the stairs and over to Michael's mattress and sit down. It creaks beneath my weight.

Gunner follows me immediately, though he doesn't make sure Michael is behind him. Maybe he's loosing a little bit in his old age. He used to be cunning. Dangerous. I guess he is now, too.

Gunner lifts up his pistol and points it at my face. I take a deep breath, in some vain attempt to calm my nerves. What a night.

Then Michael leaps off of the railing of his second floor. Before Gunner can shoot me, Michael is on his back.

Gunner pulls a knife from his pocket and takes a stab at Michael. It slices through Michael's forearm, leaving a surprisingly big gash and a thick, hot trail of blood onto Gunner's white shirt.

Michael cinches his legs around Gunner's waist and presses the butt of his gun into the man's neck.

Gunner shakes his body, and bites Michael's hand. Michael winces and lets go of the gun, and when Gunner shakes himself again, Michael lets go of him and jumps off, landing unsteadily on his feet.

Gunner, somehow, is still pointing the gun at me, but he's not watching, so I jump up and try and grab his neck in a choke hold. He sees me, so he spins around and slices at me, leaving a long cut across my chest and ripping the front of my shirt. I jump back and Michael takes the lead in our dance, coming up behind Gunner and kicking him in the back of the knee, causing him to fall down.

While he's on the ground Michael comes up and puts his foot on his neck, pointing his gun to Gunner's head. Lucky for us, Michael is powerful and smart, and Gunner has gotten a little too old to believe he can win every fist fight he gets himself into. He looks up at Michael.

"West--" Michael presses down a little, and Gunner chokes, gasping harshly. I'm surprised the man ever gathered up enough of a will to quit smoking. I guess everyone's sort of reaching for better, even if they're falling down as they're doing it.

Michael gestures in a vague direction, which means 'get the rope.' I do, and then Michael ties Gunner up. Michael presses down a little harder, for a little longer, and after a second Gunner relaxes and his eyes shut.

"What do you want to do to him?"

I don't miss the implications of Michael's tone. I shake my head and grit my teeth and wonder if I should be angrier at Gunner than I am. "Nothing. Let's give him to the police. There's enough on him to get him in for a life sentence at least."

"It's your call. He's your friend." The word _friend_ is sarcastic and thick in Michael's mouth.

"Let's go."

* * *

The drive to the police station is silent; at least in between us. I listen to the pumping heartbeat of Miami, watching as we pass the clubs flickering lights and the quiet, dark residential blocks of the city. I never realized how far Michael put himself from the police station. Michael keeps glancing over, and I can't tell whether he's looking at me or at Gunner, tied up and still knocked out in the back seat.

We're both still bleeding. Mine has almost stopped, but Michael's is still going strong. Not enough to kill him for sure, but still could be bad.

When we get there, Michael starts to get up, but I put my hand on his shoulder. "Don't worry. I got it. Don't want you bleeding all over the reprobate."

I get out of the Charger and pull Gunner out of the backseat roughly. No need to be careful. I drag him to the bottom of the station's steps and then dash back to the car and slide in. I buckle myself in as Michael speeds away. It'd be trouble if they saw us. 

Hopefully they didn't catch our faces.

We are silent on the car ride back, but it's more comfortable then before. Easy. I watch Michael as he drives. His face changes, fades from one expression to another. Stoic relaxes into paranoid, which turns into nervous, which finally melts into something smooth and tender and quiet. He looks (relatively) at peace.

"Can I stay at yours tonight?" I ask Michael as we get out of his car and he begins to walk up the stairs.

He shrugs. "Sure, Jess."

We go back into his warehouse, still a mess--the furniture that Gunner half crashed into scattered in front of the balcony door, which is cracked. Glass shards scattered over their tops. The stuff we used to barricade the front door is pushed off to the side from when we moved it to get out. At least nothing's broken but the balcony door.

"Help me clean up my arm?" He asks, and I nod, grabbing the first-aid kit as I walk past the desk with it.

He sits down on the mattress and I kneel down, so I'm at eye level with his wound. I open up the kit and find the rubbing alcohol and cotton pads. I pour some of the alcohol onto one and gesture for Michael to give me his arm. He leans toward me. I shouldn't be so excited right now. I shouldn't be enjoying holding his arm to steady it, or feeling the sheer power of those muscles, shouldn't be taken in by the strength that is not for show. I dab the gash, little by little, trying to be as delicate as possible. He winces.

"Sorry," I mutter, and he shakes his head.

"Jess?"

"Yeah?"

"Why'd you call Gunner?" I pause, unintentionally letting my hands linger over his skin. I could intentionally let them linger.

"I knew he could do it."

Michael shakes his head. "No, he couldn't."

"Wow, vain much?"

Michael chuckles. "I know myself, and I could tell I would've outsmarted him. Just a fact. One that you know."

I press the cotton pad into his gash a little harder than I need to, and he hisses.

"Okay, okay, Message received."

"I'm sorry," I say for the second time in the span of five minutes. "Me and Gunner have a history. I get touchy. Maybe a little too touchy. He used to be nice."

"Is that why?"

"No." I dab in silence for a while. Then I'm finished, and I get out the bandages. I unroll more than enough and cut them, and start winding it around his arm, slowly. "I missed him."

"Really? He didn't seem like the kind of person you'd... miss." Michael's voice is kind now. Soft.

"Yeah," I sigh. "He was all about humanity when I knew him. Intent on saving everyone. Even a emo-ass teenager whose mom had died and dad had just kicked him out."

"For being gay?"

"Bisexual. My dad didn't like it," I say. "Or me," I add. I take in a breath and let it out.

"So Gunner found you, and..."

"Took me in. Got me my first job in intel. Then we fell in love, even though he's about twenty years older than me." I laugh harshly, because there's something hilarious about this whole thing. "He bought me flowers and accepted me for who I was."

"Is that all you wanted?"

"Back then, yeah."

Michael closes his eyes. When he opens then again, I'm taping the bandages so they won't fall off. He's giving me that soft look again, and I want to run. "What about now?"

I take a breath. "Mike..."

"Jess."

I look into his eyes. "Mike."

"Jess."

He takes my head in his hands and looks me in the eyes.

And then we're kissing. It's sloppy in a way that not many things spies do get to be--all teeth and bumping noses at first, and then we sort of get a rhythm figured out and it gets easier. He tilts my head a little upwards, and I put my hands in his hair. I feel a little light headed, so I lean into the kiss. Maybe too much. Mike hisses again, like I've put too much pressure on his wound, but it's all bandaged up and I'm not touching it. I pull away from him.

"You okay?"

He nods, then I catch him looking at my chest. "Doesn't that hurt?"

I look at my own chest, frowning. "Oh." There's still that cut I got from Gunner. Maybe that's why I feel light headed. From blood loss. I figured it was excitement from finally getting what I've wanted ever since Michael fucking Westen showed up in my life. "I was-- I forgot about it."

"Let's trade places."

"I don't need you to help me, but thanks."

"We just kissed, Jesse. Get on the bed."

"Fine. Make me better." Michael stands up, and I don't know why his argument works on me, but before I know it I'm sitting on the edge of the mattress, still warm from his body. I strip off my shirt and Michael gives me a long, intense look.

"What?"

"Your body." He gives me the same treatment I gave him, calm and gentle. He's finished in about half the time, though. Better than me at everything, I think. Even kissing. When he's done we sit in random silence for a few burning seconds, and then we're kissing again, recklessly. His hands are trailing down my body and I'm trying to press his face as close as possible to mine, and then I'm leaving wet kisses on his jaw line, and he opens his mouth and-- _sighs_ , all airy and full of pleasure, pleasure that I gave him, and I bite into the soft, firm skin at the base of his neck, and it makes him giggle, _(does Michael Westen giggle?),_ and so I giggle a little bit to, into his torso, and then the night turns into a breathless blur of kisses and laughter, and feeling very intoxicated, and I've never felt like this before.

It's better than before.

* * *

I wake up in his arms. For real. I wake up before he does, somehow, which surprises me because the man's so goddamn jumpy I thought he never slept at all. I get to watch him as his eyes flutter open, and the little flicker of a smile that explodes across his face before he smushes it away. It's like a gift from whatever cruel God rules this universe.

"Hey Jess," he rasps.

"Hey."

For a moment, it's just us. I can't see any other thing, any other world. Michael touches my arm, light as a whisper. Brings me back to reality. A better one than I had yesterday morning, at least. Much better.


End file.
